


Invisible String

by BookWorm77071



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: F/M, a nesta has friends au brought to you by me, because i absolutely refuse to believe they don't exist, consider this also a, in fact i'm going to be working in a shower to every single chapter, president of the nesta archeron defense squad, showers exist!AU, that's not much there are only gonna be like four but still
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-19
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:41:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27632903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BookWorm77071/pseuds/BookWorm77071
Summary: There's no love lost between Nesta Archeron and the Cauldron. It stole life from her, so she stole Death from it. But not long after the war, Nesta realizes it gave her something, too: a mate.Nesta knows any gift the Cauldron gives her is only for the worst, and it doesn't take very much to see how, so she does her best to keep it to herself. When someone's truth magic reveals her secret, and a number of relationships pay the price, Nesta knows what she has to do: destroy the mating bond.On her journey to new lands, Nesta learns her own soul and discovers how her fate is decided, and whether love works into that equation at all.
Relationships: Nesta Archeron & Azriel, Nesta Archeron/Cassian
Comments: 67
Kudos: 78





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey hey!! Nice to see you again!! Very excited to be sharing this, finally. I've had this under wraps for a long while. It'll be much shorter than LPG, only around four chapters. But I hope you like it!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey hey!! Nice to see you again!! Very excited to be sharing this, finally. I've had this under wraps for a long while. It'll be much shorter than LPG, only around four chapters. But I hope you like it!

It is, like most things, not Nesta's fault when her mating secret gets out.

People mock her for that, she knows. Roll their eyes. She knows they think her childish, that she's not taking responsibility for her actions. But she rarely acts at all; perfectly content to sit quietly on an armchair by herself, reading a book. It's the whole rest of the world that seems determined to keep her from peace.

When she feels it dawn upon her, like a sort of snap in her soul, she innately knows something is wrong. It's not something she wants. Not that it's something she wants but doesn't think she deserves, not something she wants but not right now, just something she does not want.

First of all, the idea sickens her. Especially when she looks at Feyre. Her soul tied to another, whether she likes it or not. It's not equal, despite what her sister thinks. It can't be equal, not when there's centuries'-perhaps millenia's-worth of bloody history, of male violence and aggression. Playing into that makes her want to vomit.

Second, this is not her choice, as Feyre now loves to say. This is that _thing's_ choice-the Cauldron. And obviously, something that hated Nesta as much as the Cauldron did doesn't want anything good for her. So it has to be the wrong choice.

And she knows it with every pulse of blood, every link of bone. He is wrong for her. It's to punish her; that's why the Cauldron did it. It looked and saw what would hurt her the most, hurt her loved ones the most. And forced _him_ upon her.

Well. She's not going to have any hand in it. And she's kept that up for months, with not so much as a word to anyone, and avoiding him at all costs, so there's no chance of him confronting her about it, in case he suddenly changes his mind.

But Elain's got some ridiculous dinner planned, and she can't afford to risk hurting her anymore than she already has, so she goes. And he's there-they're all there.

Nesta sits by Elain, with their backs to the open window. Cassian is on the other end of the table, but he is pointedly looking anywhere but her. Especially at Mor, right next to him.

Fine. That's just fine. She doesn't care.

"This is delicious, Elain," Rhys says to her, and she beams at him, taking the dish and passing it to Azriel on her other side.

They compliment her in turn, more gentle than Nesta normally sees them. Even Amren. She knows Feyre, switching between gazing lovingly at Elain and surveying all of them from the head of the table with narrowed eyes, has something to do with it. While Nesta thinks she herself can never be too vigilant with Elain's feelings in her-er-fragile state, she's not sure she trusts Feyre to handle the situation properly.

As she tilts her head back to drink from the glass of wine she's poured herself, the gust of wind that blows in through the back window teases a strand out of her braid, and she knows she's right not to. Because Feyre stiffens, looks at her, and says, "What's that in your hair?"

Everyone turns to Nesta, and it's all she can do to keep her face from burning. "It's called a coronet," she says through gritted teeth, knowing full well that's not what Feyre means.

"No. That smell."

"Vanilla scented soap," she says coldly.

Feyre's mouth parts open a little. "Are you... _mated_?"

"Of course not," she snaps.

Nesta keeps her eyes determinedly away from them all-from their wide eyes, white faces. What right do they have, anyway?

Another slight breeze strengthens Nesta's scent in the room-and they can smell it on her. Smell him. And this ridiculous...this unwanted...bond.

"It's Az." Cassian's voice is flat, hollow, seems to echo in the otherwise silent room as they all register what he said.

Nesta doesn't entertain their silence. "Of course it is _not_ ," she says forcefully.

Morrigan lets out a small gasp. "It is," she says, voice catching.

Nesta swears inwardly. Her stupid truth magic. She had forgotten.

There's nowhere to look now. Not at either of her sister's faces-one desperately trying to catch her eye, one staring at her lap, unmoving; not at Rhysand and Amren looking at each other; not at Morrigan, whose eyes are flickering between her and Azriel; not Azriel himself, for she has never wanted anything to do with him and she will not start now; and most of all, not at Cassian.

In a most unbecoming display, Nesta, hands curled against the table, shoves herself backwards-Feyre flinches at the sound of the chair scraping against the floor-launches herself up, and, seething, sweeps violently out of the room.

She can barely see, for all the anger burning her vision. Can't hear, either, for the roar in her ears, but she knows her sister well enough not to be taken by surprise when she leaps out in front of her.

"Nesta!" Feyre cries. "I'm so sorry-I had no idea-I'm sorry, I-"

"When are you going to learn," she hisses, "not to intervene in matters that do not concern you?"

Feyre's eyes shine silver-this she did not expect. "I'm sorry-I thought-I thought-"

"I know what you thought."

"I'm sorry," she repeats miserably.

Nesta doesn't reply. What is she supposed to say to Elain now? She probably won't show any anger; just retreat even further into herself. Wonderful.

"And Elain..." Feyre says. "Oh, this is all my fault, Nesta!"

"I know that," she snaps.

"I just thought..."

"I'm not interested in hearing your excuses." Her voice is a particular sort of harsh she never uses with her sister.

But Feyre, to her credit, does not flinch. She only closes her mouth, nods once, and says, quiet, sorrowful, "You're right."

This irritates Nesta even more. She knows she's right. She doesn't need to be told. "Go home. Do not talk to Elain," she says.

"Are you going to talk to her?"

"I need to think. Go home."

"What about-?"

"Do as I say." Nesta marches past her and makes her way to her apartment. The walk normally takes longer; she's there within a quarter hour.

She rips her scarf off and throws it down. It doesn't crash, obviously, just falls limply on the floor. Not satisfying. Does little to assuage her anger at... _everything_.

Such rage she feels. At Feyre for ruining the façade she had built. At circumstance. At Azriel, for existing, for allowing a blossoming something to occur between him and Elain when he knew, _he knew_ they had this stupid bond and obviously that could only ever end in one way: her sister's heartbreak.

And at Cassian. Whenever she leaves her apartment, she can feel his presence somewhere above her, tracking her. He'll find some way to corner her whenever she drags herself to Feyre's house, to irritate her or try to provoke her. How she'd hiss at him and hurl insults to get him to leave her alone. And now what is it that has stopped his incessant obsession of finding her wherever she hides? This thing that she didn't even choose. It's honestly disrespectful, above all. Irking her was his favorite pastime until now, only because she's been marked by some ancient thing.

Then she feels more anger at Azriel, because a part of her isn't angry, it's sorrowful and pitying, and then she realizes-that isn't her. That feeling inside of her own body-it isn't hers! It's his!

And it's...close.

Nesta whips around and rips open her door, some tiny bit of her hoping she is wrong about who it is.

She isn't.

"I came to see how you're doing," he says, in that low, cold voice of his. Cold enough to make her shiver. For all the wrong reasons. Perhaps it takes time to get used to, but they've barely ever spoken.

"I'm fine," she says shortly. Then, "You should not have come."

"We need to talk."

"We do not."

He doesn't offer a retort, only stares at her. If she couldn't feel his ever-present sadness, she wouldn't be able to read him at all.

"I would like to talk, please," he says finally.

Nesta locks her jaw but steps aside to let him pass. He sits down on one of her couches, wings drawn tight against his back-she does not have any of their big armchairs to accommodate them. She takes her seat across from him.

She has not been alone with him very often, but every time, she is struck anew by how it feels when they are together. It feels...like nothing at all. No, _worse_ than nothing. Because this is a mistake. Some magnet inside of her is pulling them together...but she doesn't want it.

"I'm sorry this happened," he says. "I should have taken better precautions. I know we agreed...to keep this between us."

The one time they had spoken, he means. When they both felt the bond snap into place. She had not known what it was, how it worked. He had explained it all to her. Naturally, she had been horrified.

"So now...we're...we're just... we have to..."

"No," he had said firmly. "We don't have to do anything. The mating bond...it's always going to be there. A part of you-us. But we can just ignore it."

"We can ignore it?" Nesta asks, thinking of when she had watched her sister and her own mate, before they had gotten together. Even then Nesta had thought their connection remarkable, how they moved in sync with each other.

She'd been horrified, even without knowing any magic was involved.

"We can," he said. Hesitated. "It's...it might be...there'll always be a pull. But we don't...care for each other like that. So it shouldn't really affect you too much."

"And you?" she'd asked.

"It won't affect me either," he said forcefully.

But he had been wrong. It has affected her-and now it's ruined her.

"What other precautions would you have taken?" she asks. "Was there something we weren't doing?" For she knows they did everything they could. They kept apart, never even spoke about each other to anyone. Everything taken care of...but her meddling baby sister.

He doesn't answer, but she can feel him begrudgingly accept her words. How she loathes this-this invasive, parasitic feeling. It's not as miserable as it might be, of course, neither of them are Daemati, so they aren't constantly bombarded with each other's thoughts like Feyre and Rhysand, but his presence in her mind...his emotions...like she never has a minute to herself anymore.

And he's so cold. Every part of him is so cold. Even when he's happy-when he's listening to Elain chatter about her garden or training with Cassian or doing whatever the hell with Morrigan, whatever she does in her spare time-even then it's a detached, guarded sort of feeling.

"I wanted to tell you I understand you're upset, but there's no reason why things have to change."

Nesta looks at him sharply. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"We are still in agreement regarding our own relationship," he says evenly, "and I know...well, this doesn't have to affect any other relationships we may have."

"Did you come here for reassurance from me? Because you're not going to get any," she says, blunt.

"I believe I was reassuring you."

"You forget," Nesta says, a grim set to her face, "I know when you're lying."

He gives her a rueful smile. "So you do."

They sit in silence for a few minutes before Nesta says, "Look, Elain just needs some space. She's private. But I'll talk to her tomorrow and explain."

He doesn't answer. Why he bothers pretending like he doesn't fancy her sister around her, she doesn't quite understand.

It's not that Nesta wants him to have a relationship with Elain. It's just that she needs Elain to know that there is nothing going on between the two of them and there never has been and there never will be. She tells him as much.

"You are at perfect liberty to tell your sister anything you desire, of course," he says, but she can feel his relief.

"All right," she says, standing up. "That's settled. It'll be fine. But they'll all see we've been this way for months and nothing has happened so nothing needs to change."

"Right."

"Your coming here to speak to me is an outlier," she says. "You should tell them that."

"Would you like me to tell someone?"

Nesta clenches her fists. His tone is careful, measured, but it doesn't matter, because she knows what he's asking.

And her answer is _no_. Not even a little bit.

"Tell Feyre," she says, "so she doesn't get any more prying ideas."

He nods his head once. He doesn't like how she speaks of Feyre, she knows, but he doesn't say anything, which she appreciates.

Besides, she realizes, pleasantly surprised, he's not too happy with her either.

* * *

Nesta lets herself into Feyre's riverfront home after a trek through the gardens reveals Elain is inside. Mercifully, she makes it to her room without bumping into anyone.

Perhaps it's less mercy and more everyone is avoiding her, but no matter. She doesn't care. In fact, she prefers it this way.

"Elain?" she calls, knocking softly on her door. She opens it slowly and peeks her head in.

Her sister is lying on her bed, still in her nightthings. She stirs as Nesta sits down next to her.

"Nesta," she says sleepily.

"You're still in bed?" Perhaps her optimism from last night's conversation with Azriel is misplaced.

"No, no, I was just taking a nap."

She's...lying. Elain is lying to her.

And she's in bed at one o' clock in the afternoon.

"Oh," Nesta says. "Well. I just came to talk to you..."

"There's nothing to say," Elain says.

Nesta bites the inside of her cheek. "Yes there is. I need to tell you that Azriel and I are not in a relationship."

"Oh, Nesta-"

"And we don't ever want to be in one."

"It's none of my business, of course-"

"Don't be ridiculous," Nesta says, slightly bewildered. Elain had very much considered Nesta's two or three suitors entirely her business when they were silly human girls; why should this be any different? "But it's not real, anyway. It's a mistake."

Elain goes very still. "It's not," she says quietly.

"Of course it is."

"It is not."

Right. Because the Cauldron _loved_ Elain. So Elain...what, worships that vile thing like everyone else here?

"I think I'm going to shower," Elain says, voice falsely bright. "Are you going to spend the day here?"

Nesta starts at the sudden dismissal. "I...no."

"Oh," Elain says, enough disappointment in her tone that anyone who doesn't know her as well as Nesta does would believe it. "Well, I'll see you soon. And please don't worry, Nesta, dear. Everything's quite all right."

With that, she hurries into the bathroom and shuts the door behind her.

So perhaps, Nesta muses to herself on her walk home, she was wrong about how much time she should give Elain. Perhaps tomorrow she'll be more willing to talk.

Except she isn't.

And not the next day, either, and not the whole week after.

And Cassian's not springing up around the city anymore.

It's only Feyre who talks to her, too much guilt and uncertainty in her darting eyes telling her far more than her words do when Nesta asks her would-be-casually why her Inner Circle no longer stalks various of her favorite haunts and why does she think Elain has once again taken ill and is missing their lunch.

Well. Feyre might stutter through a non-answer, but Nesta knows exactly what the matter is. And she might not know how to solve it herself, but she knows who does.

So three weeks after her secret is let out, Nesta books passage to the Spring Court.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, I consider this chapter more of a prologue. Really excited for the next one! I'll post it sometime next week.  
> I'd love to hear your thoughts!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, darlings! So glad to hear you liked the premise of this. I was also so pleased to hear you were surprised! I thought everyone would see right through me for sure.  
> Anyway, enjoy chapter two!  
> (Oh, and I think the formatting on this one might be a bit weird--apologies, AO3 is simply never going to be consistent with this.)

Her predicament is not new, but it's still a surprise for Nesta when she realizes if she wants to leave, she can simply go. She defers to no one, and hasn't for a while, but her lack of communication with Elain means something else: no one is going to miss her while she is gone.

She'll have to be quick. Feyre will notice, eventually, but there isn't anything odd about the pair of them not seeing each other for a week or so. And since there isn't anyone randomly, infuriatingly checking up on her anymore...

It stings more than she admits to herself.

But no matter. It's almost all behind her now.

With clothes packed enough for fortnight (she's certain she won't be gone that long, but it never hurts to be prepared), Nesta boards her carriage and waits.

A quiet, busy sort of air about her when she walks the streets of Velaris is enough to ensure no one try and talk to her, but evidently, the same is not promised for carriage rides. She supposes the only task she has to pretend to focus on is reading a book, and that's not enough to deter the passengers from incessant conversation.

"Are you traveling, Lady?" one asks her.

Obviously. "Yes," she answers.

"Will the High Lady be joining you?"

Ah, that didn't take long. She supposes she should be pleased--she can answer honestly, the faeries will all be disappointed and bored, and they'll leave her alone.

Alas.

"So are you in need of an escort, Lady?" a pretty female asks eagerly.

"No," she says, sharply. "Thank you," she adds.

"Are you traveling about the Court, Lady?"

"No," she says, hoping she sounds cryptic enough that they think they are not allowed to question further, "I have business elsewhere."

Delighted looks are exchanged amongst the young faeries, excited to have caught real Night Court fieldwork in the act.

Something moves inside of her, but Nesta's not sure what. She's not jealous, of course. She's never desired a career in politics in her life, she definitely doesn't want to start one now under Rhysand, and she certainly doesn't care enough for the well being of the people of this land to do so.

She's angry, she decides. Angry that these people are so taken with the Inner Circle.

Yes, that must be it.

* * *

There are magical checkpoints she passes, once she shows her papers and proves she's allowed to travel through five other Courts to get to Spring--most people on the journey seem to depart into Dawn and Summer, and by the time Nesta reaches the southernmost part of Prythian, she is alone.

"Good afternoon, Lady," the footmale says, bidding her goodbye. He and the carriage are gone before she can answer.

There's no point in dallying any longer, so she sets off on her way.

Spring is not as constructed as Night. There are no roads here--at least, not in this part of the Court--and Nesta can't see any buildings at all. Just a dirt path she walks along, with endless, lush green hills, rolling on either side of it. Thick-stemmed flowers of all kinds dot the grass, with fat bees fluttering from one to the next. Songbirds whistle to each other in the fruit trees. The air is almost dizzyingly sweet.

Nesta likes it, she decides. The quiet, the warmth. But probably not too many libraries.

She's not wearing a watch, but she guesses a half an hour of her walk has passed when the first sight of civilization comes into view. A metal gate in the middle of a dying hedge, encircling a mansion--an estate. White marble, with any number of ornate windows and patios and balconies.

Beautiful, but eerie, for every step she draws closer, the quieter it grows. There's not the barest trace of people inside, and even the birds can't be heard up the steps at the gash-ridden oak door.

She knocks, more out of habit than anything else. Of course, no one opens it, so she pushes it on her own.

Black and white checked flooring spills out to several doors and a vast staircase. Sunlight falls limply onto nothing, for any decor has been shoved away.

A door opens on her right. Nesta turns.

They only stare at each other for a minute, not speaking.

Tamlin looks worse than she remembers. Same golden hair, same gem-green eyes, but...thinner, perhaps, in his cheeks. Paler. Hollow.

Quite the same image she imagines others see when she looks at her, she realizes with a start.

"What are you doing here?" he asks, voice...devastated? But why?

 _Oh_ , she says to herself, the thought hitting her, _he thought I was Feyre_.

"You owe me a favor," she says.

He raises an eyebrow.

"Because this is your fault," she explains. "My...Hybern. So you owe me."

"Do I?"

She doesn't back down from his stare, only nods once.

"And who else do you blame? Or am I the only one?" His words are careful but she doesn't understand what he wants.

"You're all to blame," she says. "You're all murderers. None of you did a good enough job keeping humans safe. It's not my place to judge which of you is the most monstrous. I'm content to hate all of you quietly."

Tamlin chuckles--low, dark. "Not your place to judge?"

"Do you deny your role in my murder?" she snaps.

The shadow-grin on his face fades. "No," he says.

"Then help me."

His shoulders tense. "What do you want?"

Nesta inhales deeply. "You struck a deal with him...to undo the mating bond. Between my sister and Rhysand."

Tamlin stops breathing.

"I want to know how to do that."

He doesn't answer her. Stays silent for a full minute, before she presses on.

"Tell me how to do that."

"You're trying to--destroy--whose?" He is desperate, searching.

Her jaw clenches tightly. "That doesn't concern you."

"You can't."

"You thought it could be done, obviously. That's why you were willing to _give us to Hybern_ \--"

"I didn't--"

"--so just tell me."

He glares at her, and Nesta wonders, briefly, if she should be concerned. But she's too angry to be nervous. Her world has been thrown off its axis too many times now and this is something she knows she can fix. She _has_ to.

"Don't you think," he says, through gritted teeth, "if I knew of any way to undo a mating bond, I would have done it myself?"

Nesta doesn't bother stifling her eye roll. "But how did you think he was going to do it?"

"I don't know." He looks to the side, to the nothing that lays beyond the manor. "I don't know what I thought."

Nesta does not have time for his introspection nor does she care. She puts her hands on her hips. "Well, who can I go to, then?"

Tamlin looks at her, surprised, as if he'd forgotten she's still here. "I suppose...you can catch a Suriel."

A Suriel. Nesta remembers talk of one, during the war. Feyre had gone to find one. But that one is dead now, she knows.

"How do I do that?"

Tamlin loosens a frustrated sigh. "If I catch one for you, are we even? You'll consider our score settled?"

Nesta scoffs. "I will never consider our score settled. But rest assured, if you catch me this Suriel and it tells me how to undo a mating bond, I will never have any reason to come to Spring again."

His head tilts as he considers her words. "Fine," he says, grudgingly. He stalks past her, out the door and down the steps. "Follow me."

She does, off the path and into a deceptively quiet grove that leads into an even more forbidding forest, and she doesn't know for how long--she really should get a watch--until he finally holds out his arm and says, without turning around, "Wait here."

He disappears into a thatch of shrubbery. Again, she wonders if she should be nervous. Tamlin's a High Lord--this land's High Lord. Surely, if she's here with him, nothing will attack her.

And there is also the matter of...herself.

A sharp hiss escapes the spot where Tamlin crossed into, and then he barks out, "Come here!"

Moving a fair bit of bush aside, Nesta steps into a small clearing. There's a quiet stream. Tamlin, beyond it, with his arms wrapped around...a Suriel.

Hunched over, beneath a robe that might have once been very finely embroidered, the creature looks up at her with eyes filled only with whites.

"For this you have caught me, High Lord?" it--he? She?--says, its cold voice making her flinch.

Tamlin rises, letting go of the Suriel. "She has something to ask you," he says flatly.

The Suriel doesn't run once he lets it go--scared of him or her? It only straightens out the collar of its robe with long gray fingers that appear as though they have been broken more than once. "What is it, Eve-daughter?"

It knows she was human. Once, at least.

No matter. That's not what she has come for.

"I want to know how to undo a mating bond," she says, keeping her voice even. "Please," she adds.

The Suriel clicks its tongue. "Most would consider such a bond a dearly loved gift."

Nesta bites her tongue. It won't do her any good to snap at this creature. "Can you tell me?" she asks.

"But you don't like anything gifted from the Cauldron, do you? No...you prefer your gifts stolen..."

Nesta's heart stutters. Tamlin looks on, curious, but she forces herself to keep eye contact with the Suriel. "Will you tell me?" she says, trying again.

Another hiss. "I can't tell you."

"But you know who can?" she presses, guessing at its linguistic trickery.

The Suriel bites its yellowed teeth together twice. "An old friend of yours, I would say."

An old friend...Amren? But Amren is only High Fae now, surely she doesn't have any powers like this anymore...and Amren's not an old friend. Only a former one.

"Call upon the one your sister bargained with," it says.

"Which one?" There are a great many, she suspects. Each deal more foolish than the last, she's certain. If she's come all the way to Spring just for a Suriel to tell her to go ask Rhysand--

"Bryaxis."

Oh.

Well.

"Where is Bryaxis now?" It had not returned to that library after the war.

"It'll come to you," the Suriel replies. "Call upon it."

Call upon...the only thing that Cassian fears.

Fine.

"What's that in your bag, Eve-daughter?"

Nesta looks down. "Clothes."

"Could you spare any?" it asks, clicking its fingers together.

She blinks. But she remembers all too well what it was like to be freezing, and is still at the mercy of stronger Fae, and she meant what she told Tamlin: they are all monsters here and she's not any authority on who amongst them is the worst.

"Sure," she says, and takes out the cloak she had brought. Simple. Charcoal gray, with purple hem so deep it's nearly black. She steels her arms as she extends it, willing herself not to show emotion when her fingers brush its.

The Suriel rises to its full height--taller than Nesta, obviously, but taller even than Tamlin. It slips off the tattered robe and lets it fall at its feet. Nesta's cloak hits its knees.

"Well," she says. "Goodbye, then." She turns on her heel and heads back through the bushes.

This time, Tamlin follows her. "Where are you going?" he asks.

"Back to Night." Where else can she go?

"You missed the last cross-Court carriage of the day. I'm not winnowing you there."

Her steps only falter slightly. "Well. I packed for this. Where's an inn?"

"You can stay at my estate."

This causes Nesta to stop and turn to him. "What do you think this is about?"

He doesn't miss a beat. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"You are _not_ coming with me to see Bryaxis. This is _not_ about my sister."

He flinches. "I know that," he says, voice low, rough. "I...I let her go. Weren't you there?"

When Rhysand died, he means. "I don't care," she says honestly.

"You can stay at my home for tonight," he says again. "See Bryaxis in the morning."

Nesta thinks about it. Is staying in Tamlin's home worse than staying in Rhysand's?

No.

But she still doesn't want to.

"No," she says to him. "I won't come ask you for anything again. You can consider us square, if you like."

So for the second time, she turns and leaves him. This time, he does not follow.

* * *

When the sun sets, Nesta stops walking. This was a good idea, she thinks, even as her heart beats in her throat. It's good precisely because of her fear. Her fear of being alone in a strange land, at night, with no sense of direction, and no way to get back until tomorrow.

Because now, what choice does she have but to go to Bryaxis.

Hoping her walk has helped to summon some nerve, Nesta lays her bag down neatly at her feet and smooths her hair. She clears her throat.

"Bryaxis," she says, the stupidity she feels stronger than any scariness, "I call upon you."

She stands there, looking out onto flowing hills and nothing else, feeling foolish, at best.

Perhaps Tamlin had offered her a kindness. A safe place for the night. Then she could have taken a carriage back in the morning and swallowed her pride and asked Amren for help finding Bryaxis.

Her spine straightens suddenly--only then does she hear. Her body recognizes it before her mind.

"Nesta Archeron," it says, from behind her.

She does not turn to look, keeps herself focused on a spot on a distant hill. "Hello," she says.

"You have grown thinner," it notes.

"I can't be sure, but I imagine you look much the same." The words are out before she can stop them.

But--Bryaxis laughs. Dark, shivering, under her bones. But a laugh, all the same.

Not so terrifying, she thinks. Just...stare ahead. Don't turn around. She can do that.

"To what do I owe the pleasure? So far from...your home."

"The Night Court is not my home."

"Oh?" it asks, mildly interested. "So where would it be?"

She hesitates. "I...am from the south of the island."

"Is that your home?"

Nesta exhales slowly. The Suriel had called her Eve-daughter, had it not? Why shouldn't she be allowed to claim human lands as hers?

"But I believe you have a question for me, Nesta Archeron."

"I do." Nesta takes another deep breath. "I want to undo my mating bond."

"That's not a question."

"...can you undo my mating bond?"

"I can."

She almost wishes she could turn around. Almost.

"Will you?" she asks, and pinches her fingers.

"Neither you nor I come from the Night Court," Bryaxis says, "but we have both found ourselves residing there, have we not?"

"I...yes." Small talk with this demon...is that the price to say? To ensure her sister's happiness, get her to speak to her again?

"A special history of bargains in the Night Court. Your sister broke ours, you know."

Nesta stiffens. "You left. How could she fulfill it?"

That laugh again. "Perhaps you can fulfill it for her."

She hesitates, bringing her hand up to touch her hair. "What...would you like me to do?"

"Tell me why you want your bond broken."

Sucking in her bottom lip, Nesta tugs a lock of her hair out of its coronet. "It was only given to me to hurt me. Because my sister cares for him."

"Tell me why, Nesta Archeron."

She closes her eyes. _Do it,_ she commands herself. _Just--say it, just this once, and then it'll be over._

Eyes still shut tight, she nods slowly. "The bond...hurts me because it hurts Elain because she cares for Azriel. And it hurts me..." _Just say it, you stupid girl_. "...because I...care for his brother." Her voice cracks, barely a whisper on the last word.

Her cheeks heat up. There--she's admitted it. She's said it.

Oh, she--she _hates_ this. Hates it so much. She hates _him_. For everything he's done to her. How he treats her, even though he makes her feel--how he makes her feel! Far too many ways!

Everything about him. His hair and his eyes and his skin and his arms and his stupid smirk and his vile tongue and every single one of his fingertips and his scent and his thighs and his shoulders and--

"There, Nesta Archeron," Bryaxis says softly. "That's it."

Nesta fists her hands together. "Will you just end it now?"

"Certainly," it says. Something cool reaches out and caresses her cheek. "Face me."

The touch is gentle, almost loving. Not scary. Not threatening. So she does.

The gentleness ends there--it all goes dark.

* * *

When she opens her eyes, the sun is rising...in the Night Court.

"Good morning, Nesta Archeron," Bryaxis says from behind her.

Nesta pushes up off the ground. She's dressed in one of the night-things she brought in her bag.

"I brought you to this place neither of us call home," it says. "Our bargain is done."

She reaches down to pick a cardigan out of her bag, but her arms are shaking. That same touch from before--gentle, sweet--picks it and helps her put it on.

"Thank you," she says, her voice coming out in a whisper. She tries to swallow, but it burns.

"You should go to the High Lord's house. They're all waiting for you." Bryaxis pushes her a bit forward. Not roughly, just enough to get her legs moving on their own again. "Call upon me again, Nesta Archeron...when you'd like."

Bryaxis' essence disappears. Without looking behind her, she knows it is gone.

* * *

Strange looks punctuate her on her walk to Feyre's home. The High Lady's sister, dressed in a nightdress, clutching a travel bag. All she wants to is get back to her apartment and shower off the past day, but if they're all waiting for her...she supposes it can wait.

She wants to see Elain, anyway. Wants to show her...how much she loves her. What she did for her.

Bryaxis had been kind, though. Had hidden most of the pain from her. Only the aftermath remains, like the hollowness she always feels after her cycle, or shaking after being sick.

She stops dead in her tracks and gasps violently. The hollowness...it's not hollowness at all. It's...wholeness. Because she's whole. She's alone.

The mating bond is gone.

A laugh--a real laugh, carefree and joyous--escapes her. For the first time in...she can't remember how long. Every step after is easier, lighter. And she is more eager to take it. Elain awaits. Elain and...

She practically skips up to the riverfront manor, not able to fully suppress the small smile on her face as she throws the door open. She starts to call her sister's name, but the sight in the front room cuts her off.

Elain is there, with Feyre. Elain lies in the latter's lap, shaking slightly. Rhysand sits behind Feyre, on the floor, his hand on her back. Her tear-stained face is still. Azriel sits on a chair, arms propped up on his lap and head buried in his palms. Morrigan sits on a couch by Amren, who stares blankly at the wall.

It is Amren who first looks up and sees her. She inhales sharply, which makes them all, one by one, look to her...and then to what she is staring at. Nesta.

Elain notices last, her face still at Feyre's legs. With their younger sister's soft cry, Elain picks up her head and turns.

She bolts upright. Nesta jerks back for her suddenness. She is wrecked.

"Nesta?" she breathes.

Nesta looks around. "What?" she says, uncomfortable and bewildered.

"You..." Elain reaches out a hand. She stumbles a few feet forward, and touches Nesta's cheek. Clammier than Bryaxis, and not nearly as gentle. "You're _alive_."

Morrigan rises next. "I'm going to find Cassian," she says, to no one in particular. "Tell him..." She gives Nesta a look of--fright?--and scurries out of the house.

Quite suddenly, Nesta comes back to herself. "What is going on?" she demands.

Elain draws her hands back towards herself, looking at her fingers, as if she thinks they are not real, either.

"Feyre, it's okay," Rhys says to her sister, who has gone very white.

"What is going on?" she says again.

It's Azriel who answers, standing up fast. Far too fast. "You...were...dead."

"I...what?" Nesta asks. "What are you--oh."

The bond...when it had...because she had not told them.

Oh.

Perhaps...this has not been her best thought out plan, she thinks.

"Well," she says. "I'm...I'm not dead." She looks to Azriel. "I...undid the bond."

Every one of them-like they're all puppets on a string controlled by one person-tenses at the same time. In any other situation, it would be funny.

But it's this situation. So all that happens is Elain, bursting into hysterical tears, and running away.

No, Nesta decides. Not her best thought out plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd love to hear your thoughts if you've got the time. Hope you're keeping warm and healthy! Australians and South Africans, you can stay cool and healthy:)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, darlings. Thanks so much for your patience; here is chapter three! Enjoy!

Azriel remembers the exact moment his bond with Nesta snapped into place; that first inhale of breath after it. How cold and crisp it had seemed; like her, maybe. For a brief moment, he had seen it all unfurl in his mind. If he were not in love with another, if her sister did not call to him so, if his brother did not so clearly desire her with every bone in his body...how they might tell their story.

But it had only been for a moment, and every one after only further solidified what he knew: this bond would not be a traditional one.

That doesn't make it any better when it breaks with her death.

It takes him back to that first breath with Nesta, this first breath without her. It hurts to breathe, and then it doesn't get better-it gets _worse_. Because Rhys asks him what's wrong.

And now he has to be the one to tell them. Feyre, so nervous and guilty all the time now. Cassian, utterly heartbroken and trying his best not to let it show. And Elain, hiding from him.

And the knowledge that this...empathy, this innate _knowing_ of his family's feelings...that that is-was Nesta's. Nesta, and how she saw everything about everyone and catalogued it and sometimes felt it herself...that is gone. He'll never have that again. That...caring.

But she was his only chance. He was never going to feel joy so easily like Mor; he's always known that. But Nesta, though she did not know, helped him see it more clearly. Recognize the light in the world, even when she was in such a dark place herself. He had never thanked her. Never even...

"Az?" Rhys says again, putting a hand on his shoulder, bringing him back. He blinks to see Feyre and Cassian looking at him, concerned.

He can't meet their gaze. Shit. _Shit._ How did this-he should've seen, should've known. Felt it, perhaps. But now there's only this void, this nothing where Nesta once lay-

"Sit down," Cassian says, moving him into a chair. "Mor-yeah. Az, drink this."

Oh, Mother, how's he going to tell Cassian? How can he do this?

"No," he croaks, pushing Cassian's hand away. So generous and caring, even though his bond with Nesta hurt him so much. Azriel doesn't deserve him.

"What is it?"

He can't do it. He _can't_. This is the cruelest twist of fate there is, surely. Cassian doesn't deserve this. Azriel shouldn't be the one to tell him-it shouldn't be happening at all-how did this even happen?

"Az!" Cassian slaps him in the face.

"You think that's going to help?" Feyre demands. "He obviously needs a healer."

"No," he says, more forcefully, standing up. "I...we have to...sit. Stay here a moment." He needs to get a grip on himself. Send a shadow to tell Nuala to get Elain and seat her here, too. She and Feyre should be together for this. And Amren...she had been Nesta's friend, once.

How is this falling to him? How is he supposed to do this?

A few minutes pass until Elain shuffles into the room, exchanging a bewildered look with Feyre. They still do not know. They haven't even asked him if this is something to do with Nesta.

But he has to tell them. Now.

He's the worst person in the world for this. He wishes, so intensely it burns, that she were here. What he wouldn't give for her perception right now-how cruel that he does not get to keep a part of her-as if it should have been him who had gotten any of her, when it so clearly was the wrong choice this whole time-

"Azriel?" Elain's soft voice calls him back. She hasn't spoken to him in a week. This is their first conversation in a week. He doesn't doubt it will be their last.

Everyone he loves is gathered around him, sitting, gazing at him. Only Amren's head is turned, staring at nothing. Perhaps she's figured it out.

He takes a deep breath-dull, stale, so unlike that fresh one months ago.

"I'm so sorry to tell you this," he says, voice quiet. He forces himself to meet Elain's eye. She reaches a hand out to Feyre, like she can feel what's coming. Perhaps she can See it. He swallows, daring a glance at Cassian. It's too much to say-he can't force the words. "The bond broke a few minutes ago." He stops for breath. Can't look. Can't do this. "I can't feel Nesta anymore." Don't look. _Don't_. "She's gone."

When Azriel was a child, he was left largely to grow in a darkened room by himself. He would be let out for an hour a day, and once a week he was permitted to see his mother. So either the Mother has extended Her mercy upon him by allowing him to answer the shadows that beckoned him or he managed to wring life in the darkness by his own sheer will, but either way, that power eludes him now. Every second that passes is excruciating, perfect in its misery and pain, and there is no reprieve. Every second anew brings Elain's screaming sobs, Feyre's hyperventilating, and the dead, broken look in Cassian's eyes. Over and over again, endlessly, and he thinks it's all he'll hear and see forever.

Until she walks in the door.

* * *

Nesta stomps her way out of the house, fuming to herself. She ripped herself apart, and for what? It's what everyone wanted, so why are they acting like this is a greater sin than the existence of the bond she has severed? Surely this is what they all wanted. But instead she gets Elain's tears and Feyre's self-righteous horror and Azriel won't look at her and Cassian's _not even there_.

She _isn't_ crazy. This _was_ what everyone wanted. This was the only way they could go back to...what they had before. That wasn't perfect, and it certainly wasn't normal, but it was better than the alternative.

Her rage clouds her vision as she leaves the house, she nearly misses the bit of ripple in the shadows of her sister's garden behind her.

"You!" she calls out angrily, whipping around before she even realizes what she's doing. "You come back here!"

Azriel steps out of nothing, bowing his head, his hands clasped together in front of him, the picture of submission. But his scarring, his massive wings, the knives she can see hidden on his person make him look like a parody of a manservant. She remembers the fear she felt for herself and Elain when he first stepped into her father's house, but that's gone now.

After a few seconds of silence, he says, "Can I help you with anything?"

She can't help herself. She laughs bitterly. "You are so full of shit." She shakes her head, laughing still, mockingly, as she settles down in the shade of a tree.

She can see Azriel hesitate in her periphery. He can't stand her, she knows. But he doesn't want to leave her here, near mad in his eyes, out of obligation to Feyre.

"You got off easy, you know," she says to him. "You didn't have to do anything. I did all the work."

She closes her eyes and tilts her head back. He's quiet, and she thinks he's gone. But then he says, the rage in his voice almost mirroring what she feels inside, "If you think it was easy feeling the bond severed, and knowing it meant that you were dead, and feeling that alone in front of your sisters and Cassian, you are out of your mind, and maybe as selfish as Rhys thinks you are."

Nesta's eyes snap open. She stares at him, frozen for a moment before she feels her cheeks color a bit. She does not cower under his unblinking gaze, but it takes her by surprise.

"You didn't want the bond," she says.

He doesn't say anything. _He never does,_ Nesta thinks to herself. And she'd get lost inside of herself with someone as quiet as him.

But then he sits down next to her. "I didn't," he says softly. "But I didn't want you to die."

"I didn't die."

"Well, we didn't know that then."

Nesta turns her head to his. "I was the worst person you could imagine to be bonded to," she says. "You hated me. You're happy with this."

He is quiet for more than a few seconds. "You are not the worst person I could imagine. You're not a bad person. And I certainly don't hate you. I admire you. But yes...I think we'll both be happier without this."

Nesta releases a breath she has been holding subconsciously. "We're not right for each other."

"I agree."

"Then why is everyone acting this way," she says, shaking voice falling flat, because she doesn't care about _everyone_.

"Because it was dangerous."

That makes Nesta want to scream. "How come everyone's choices get respected, danger aside, except mine?" she demands. "And don't tell me that I took away your choice, because you wanted this too."

"I understand your frustration," he says, and she knows he's not trying to be condescending, that that's just how he talks, but all things Holy, it irritates her. "I'm sure you understand Elain and Cassian's emotions better than I do. You're incredibly empathetic."

She wants to reply, but she can't. He said his name, and she doesn't trust her tongue enough to open her mouth.

"I admire your tenacity," Azriel says, sitting down next to her, "and insightfulness and cunning and nerve. I've felt your soul. I know how deeply you feel. I can imagine how hurt you are. The time you and I were...bonded, it taught me how to feel out other people's emotions. I...value that. I value you for that."

She hates him for being the first person to say that to her. She hates him for being the one who's come after her.

"Some advice...about Cassian," he says, voice low. She stills. "He likes to take care of those he loves. He doesn't always realize what he needs, though."

 _What_ he _needs,_ she grumbles to herself. What about what _she_ needs? Has anyone offered Nesta an apology, a cup of tea, a shower?

"It's so odd," Azriel says, a faint smile on his lips.

"What?"

"To see you...and know you must be thinking something. But not be able to tell anymore. You appear quite impassive, you know."

Nesta tuts. "Look who's talking."

"Touché," he says, and she's almost calm enough to laugh.

"I'm not impassive," she says softly.

"I know. You just appear that way." He hesitates. Considers his words carefully. "I don't think...anyone believes you're emotionless, Nesta."

"I don't care," she says automatically.

"I never minded your quiet," he continues, as though she had not spoken, "but you should know that Cassian likes to talk. About emotions. Sometimes."

"Stop talking about him."

He shrugs and settles into silence beside her. They stay that way for a few minutes, before Nesta breaks it.

"I suppose...Elain's feeling guilty. And hurt. Though I don't think she has good enough reason to be," she adds. "But..."

But Cassian should have come back by now. Morrigan has told him she is here. So where is he?

"If you don't think she has reason to be hurt, are you going to talk to her?"

Nesta thinks. "Yes," she decides, standing up.

"Right now? I thought you said it was best to give her space-"

"She's had enough space. I'm sick of waiting. Enough of my life has been wasted on this rubbish. No offense," she adds after a beat.

He grins, wider than she's ever seen him. "None taken."

"I'm going to talk to her now," she says. "You can talk to her after, if you'd like. Or don't. I don't care."

"You know, Nesta," he says, walking beside her up back to the house. "I consider you a friend."

She stops to look at him. "You're all right, I suppose," she says finally. She falters in the doorway and turns back around to face him. "Actually. I'm glad it was you."

His eyes widen slightly and she hurries to explain. "So we could break it," she says. "And now we're free. Forever. And we're fine."

"If you want to talk to Cassian," he says, walking backwards towards the house's shadows, "I suggest you do so sometime today."

He disappears into nothing, but she's already inside, rushing to find her sister. This ends today.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There we are! I had originally intended to put Az's experience in a separate fic, also Cassian's, but I've decided to work it in. So we'll see his POV next chapter, which I hope will be up soon-ish.  
> Hope you're having a quiet, happy, healthy end of the year:) and I'd love to hear your thoughts!

**Author's Note:**

> Honestly, I consider this chapter more of a prologue. Really excited for the next one! I'll post it sometime next week.  
> I'd love to hear your thoughts!


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